I HUM IN SYNC with the ocean, one hand hitched to the empty sword loop on my waist and the other closing over the edge of the Saad. Night quilts the sky with stars sown like the uneven stitching of my jacket.
A new land lies somewhere in reach – the next plotted point in Elian’s quest – and the crew sleeps peacefully below while we sail toward it. Above where I linger, the ship’s wheel stands firm, twitching ever so slightly to steer the Saad onward. Even without a pirate awake to command it, Elian’s mighty vessel navigates knowingly along his chosen course.
I fasten my jacket over my chest as the wind picks up speed and quicken my song to match the pace. It’s an odd sensation to be able to sing and have nobody suffer a consequence for it. To use my voice in the complete opposite way it was intended, with neither death nor sorrow in its wake. Leaving behind nothing but a melody.
I feel at peace.
There’s something about the easy routine of the Saad that settles the awful parts holding true inside my heart. Nights are spent taking in the uncanny tranquility of the ocean, far from my mother’s wrath, and the crew – even Kye, who isn’t at all afraid to be entirely unwelcoming – offers a unique comfort. The easy rapport they share reminds me of home. Of Kahlia. They look at Elian the same way my cousin looks at me: with devotion that isn’t offered in blind fidelity, but earned through something far deeper. Trust. Friendship. Maybe even love. At the very least, I can pretend not to be my mother’s daughter. Live like I’ve never killed, and spend hours of a day without worrying that everything I do might be used against me.
I can almost see why Elian chose to abandon his birthright in favor of such a nomadic life. Though I plan to return to the Diávolos Sea and take my mother’s place, I can’t deny the appeal of a life spent far from the weight of kingdoms. It definitely isn’t the worst idea the prince has had. Most likely. At least he knows what he wants.
My mother’s voice boomerangs inside my mind, commanding me to give up the hope of trying to overthrow her and just take Elian’s heart before it’s too late. If I fail at getting the Second Eye of Keto, then not only will I die, but I’ll die a traitor to the ocean. But what’s the alternative? Bowing and praying that one day she gives me the throne, all the while watching Kahlia wince in her presence? If I follow my mother’s orders, then I’m condemning Kahlia and the rest of the ocean to her rule. But if I don’t follow them, if I dare to go through with my plot, then I risk proving just how defective I really am.
I grip the ship more tightly, inhaling the slick salt in the air.
If only my quest were as simple as Elian’s, singularly focused on being the savior of humanity. It might seem like a big undertaking, but it’s not like it requires him to betray everything he’s ever known. If he succeeds, his mother might be proud. If I succeed, mine might die.
Thinking of Elian makes the night seem colder. I know whichever plan I go with will lead to his death. Either I try to kill him now, or I wait to kill him after, but there’s no path I’ve mapped out for myself that doesn’t end alongside his life.
Every action will betray. Every choice will slaughter. Despite what my mother says, I seem to be the exact kind of monster she wanted.
The very moment I think that, a soft melody slips through the air. A distant lullaby, too far to make out, but familiar all the same. It’s drowsing and seductive. So much so that it takes me a few moments to realize the ship is quaking. It’s like the ocean hears the treachery of my thoughts and sends a mighty force crashing into the side of the Saad. I hurl forward and my hands slam over the edge of the ship’s body.
I barely stop myself from plummeting overboard. I hold back a scream and look down at the peaceful ocean below. There’s not a wave in sight, or the slow bubble of froth that comes after such a powerful surge. But there is a shadow.
I blink.
It lingers in the pooling darkness, half-swallowed by water and gripping firmly on to the Saad. I squint, leaning farther over the edge to get a closer look.
From the darkness, a skeleton claw rises.
The shadow scrambles toward me, scurrying up the side of the Saad with nefarious speed. I jump back just in time for the creature to pounce onto the deck and shake the sails.
Ridges crisscross down its body like scars, patched by motes of gray that seep into its flesh. Each of its fins are set apart in razors, and its large torso is carved into endless folds, leading to arms that end in inky talons. Half-shark, half something far more demonic.
The Flesh-Eater.
I drop to my knees and my mother’s monster roars. He skitters toward me, reaching out with slick palms to drag a hand down my cheek.
“Pórni mou,” he gnarls.
I don’t react to the possessive claim, or the repulsive way he phrases it, his claws scraped against my skin in warning. I was wary of the Flesh-Eater even when I was a siren, but now that I’m human, he could easily tear through me. Perhaps that’s why my mother sent him. I wonder why Elian and his crew haven’t come running. Is it possible they didn’t feel the ship lurch? I focus again on that familiar lullaby gliding through the wind, making my eyes heavier with each verse.
A siren’s song. Making sure the crew stays in their slumber.
“Anthrópinos,” the Flesh-Eater barks.
Human.
The word croaks from deep within his throat, splintering through the cracks in his fangs. Disgusted. Curious. Perhaps amused, if it’s possible for mermen to feel something so closely related to joy. The Flesh-Eater takes ahold of my chin and jerks my face to his so I can smell the sour blood on his breath. When he slides his viscous lips against mine, I keep deadly still. My teeth grate together, but it’s only seconds before I feel flesh crawling along my tongue. I can taste the decay in him.
The Flesh-Eater rips away from me and spits. He swipes his shark tail in the air and bares his saliva-stringed fangs. He can taste the humanity in me just as I can taste the demon in him. At his outburst, a call of laughter spills from the ocean, ricocheting off the Saad and blowing through her sails. The music climbs and my heart clinches.
My mother’s long tentacles spill over the deck like oil, familiar tribal tattoos cutting across her skin. Her crown sits gloriously sharpened, crawling down the length of her back in a magnificent headdress. She grasps the trident and stares at me with eyes like pits.
“Don’t look so frightened, darling.” The Sea Queen bears her fangs to a smile. “Mother’s here.”
I pull myself up from my knees and stare hard at the floor, to give the appearance of bowing. The longer I glare at the wood grain, the more my skin heats, sweat pasting through my clothes as the anger boils beneath. I can hardly bear the thought of looking at her. After everything she’s done, for her to show up here – on Elian’s ship, of all places – is the worst kind of insult.
A terse silence gathers between us, and for a moment I wonder what the next sound will be. The Flesh-Eater’s roar; my mother’s laughter; the erratic pounding of my furious heart.
Instead I hear my song.
The deadly lullaby from before grows louder, and I snap my head up in sudden recognition, stumbling backward. It crawls across the deck, reaching out with delicate hands to sway the Saad. The melody is as opiate as ever, and even I’m barely able to keep my footing as it grows. Hearing it feels like being lost in a memory, or a dream that’s impossible to wake from. It feels like being born into a world imagined.
With the lie of my song, there’s no chance any of the crew will wake from their sleep.
My mother presses a long webbed finger to her chest, and her seashell flickers against my voice. When my eyes begin to fog, her mouth tugs up. “It’s only a keepsake,” she says. “I’ll return it if you succeed.”
I try desperately to blink the sorrow from my eyes. “Have you come to taunt me?” I ask.
“Not at all,” the Sea Queen says. “I’ve come to see how the Princes’ Bane is faring.” She arches her neck. “Do you have the prince’s heart hidden somewhere in those unsightly rags?”
It doesn’t surprise me that she’s come to check if I’m sticking to her plan. Being punished and pushed in the exact direction she’s plotted, like Elian’s ship following his course even while the captain sleeps. I am my mother’s vessel. Or so she thinks.
“It’s not that simple,” I say.
“Oh, Lira.” She swipes a string of seaweed from her trident. “Queens do not make excuses. I suppose this is just further proof of why you can’t become one.”
“I deserve to be queen,” I say. “I’m strong enough to lead our kind.”
“You’re weak,” she accuses. “You’ve always been weak. Look at you now, dressed in your human clothes, with your human emotions. Do you know what I see in your eyes, Lira? It’s not death or darkness or even anger. It’s tears.”
I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the look on your face,” she says. “Your human grief.”
I want to argue, but even I can’t deny the sadness pricking the backs of my eyes. I felt anger as a siren, but never sorrow. Not since I took Crestell’s heart with my mother’s hand steady on my shoulder. But hearing my song cleave through Elian’s ship, knowing that at this very moment my mother is still able to use me as a weapon without my consent, feels like being speared. And the way she looks at me, not at all concerned, so entirely contrasted by the worry I felt when I saw Kahlia’s wounds. Or that Kye had when Maeve attacked Elian. Or even the look on the prince’s face when he pulled me from the ocean my mother left me to drown in. How can the Sea Queen see it as a weakness when it’s the very thing that binds the humans together, ensuring their strength as a unit? A family.
The Flesh-Eater snarls and my mother reaches out to run a talon over his face. She slices a line across his cheek slowly, soothingly, and the Flesh-Eater growls in satisfaction.
“Your time is running out, Lira,” she says, bringing her finger to her lips. “And if you don’t bring me the prince’s heart soon, then I’m going to take yours.”